Whispers in the Dark REVISED
by Yubi.Fanficts
Summary: The moment you are born, there is someone who dies. Then, the two are linked. On that day, she died in crimson. The Grim Reaper approached her without a sound. (MikuxLen LenxMiku)
1. Chapter 0: Author's Note

**Whispers in the Dark REVISED**

 **Chapter 0: Author's Note**

Please read.

As the title implies, this is a revision of my old work in progress, _Whispers in the Dark._ The original story can be found on my account with 21 chapters and no further continuation. However, this revision isn't simply a redo of my old work. While _REVISED_ is roughly based upon the old plot line, it will have prominent aspects of a new story all together, but my original intentions will remain true.

As a warning, I must inform you that this story will contain content that may not be suitable for some. It will also cover topics that I have not personally experienced, and I sincerely apologize if it shows offense.

Lastly, I made a Spotify playlist! Listen as you read. I will be continually updating it. Look up "Whispers in the Dark BGM" by Graciep, or follow this link: user/uc3ew40yuv8n5o2pjdstaismz/playlist/0fjNBSpsxyF3VFM3MIlcNf

Thank you for reading.

\- Yubi


	2. Chapter 1: Prologue

_[Spotify playlist: "Whispers in the Dark BGM" – listen as you read.]_

 **Whispers in the Dark REVISED**

 **Chapter 1: Prologue**

She was to die.

She was to die a slow, gentle, ambient death, a haze in which should've softly clouded her eyes. Like the harsh frigidness of winter to kill a tree, her end was to be indubitable. Yet she lay there, her gaze absent but not quite blind. As with life, the eyes are the ultimate gateway to perceive immediate viability, a sense in which can be deciphered as a definite black or white with no grey in between. And yet she lay there, having defied what her fate had set her out to fulfill; her heartbeat still fluttered on when it was to dim. If one were to press an ear against her lips, a weak kiss of a breath would be heard. She was to die, so why was she still holding on?

It wasn't my place to pamper with her destiny. I knew that if I continued to remain a few yards away from her limp, motionless figure in the snow, she would eventually die - as it should be. Although her breath was still extant, it would at some point tonight cease and gradually flicker out, like a candle in a brewing rainstorm. I am to be nothing more than an outsider observing the cruel, beautiful end to life, our two separate lives fated to briefly intermingle but not to touch. I was to be in no way a factor of her life, only death, and yet I stay here now as her eyes remain locked onto mine and I quietly watch her. She had given up pleading for me to save her quite a while ago, which held a bitter taste on my tongue. I wasn't sure if I had wanted her to or not, her will to stay on initially alarming me and grasping my attention. But slowly it weakened, and after some time I turned my head to her longing that simply held no significance.

I had come much too early. Her death was supposed to have been accomplished an hour ago. Despite the time, I hadn't touched, spoken, or reacted to her at all in this entire hour. At first, I thought I had arrived late; her body was still and the rise and fall of her chest appeared to be absent when I first approached her. But then, her eyes slowly opened, locking with mine and catching my breath. It was so immediate and unexpected that I wasn't sure if I had actually seen her open her eyes or if I had imagined it. I hadn't moved since then.

In the beginning, I simply watched her as she would weakly, shakenly reach her arm out to me, her lips fragile as she would voicelessly mouth the word "help." I did nothing, and eventually she stopped looking to me as her knight in shining armor, her arm falling limp with no more pleads. She just stared at me as I stared at her. Neither of us had done anything since then, the slight spark of hope for rescue in her eyes deteriorating right before me.

Perhaps we were both waiting for her to die. Perhaps she had given up after I had done nothing to help her, and now she was patiently waiting for her life to seep out of her in red. Crimson had graced all around her figure in the field of white, as if they were wings growing out of her warm back and waiting for her to take flight. It was slow, but they were flourishing and becoming quite a beautiful contrast to the snow. Red was alluring.

On the file that I was given, she had died an hour ago. I was to see her moment of death, watch as she drew her last breath, and then assist her to the next life. I soon began to consider whether I should intervene or not.

It wouldn't be difficult in the least to hurry things along, the weakness in her body having surpassed any strength left quite a while ago. In no way would I be inflicting any harm upon myself, the danger I feel around her mute. She would not fight back. She would not push me away. She would finally become sound under the grace of my own hands.

I sigh, a small cloud of white lacing the air to my lips. I glance down to my hands, both dyed in the black gloves that snake around my numbed fingers. Never to be taken off. Never to risk skin-on-skin contact. Because I do not exist in the same physical plane as the human being, I do not hold any meaning until after death. However, the only sole loophole in crossing both of our worlds is through my physical touch. With the interlude between death and the afterlife that my job forces me to witness, partake in, and ensure of, the client's soul is at its most fragile in a sense of utter vulnerability. My job is to intermingle with the purest form of their souls, for I am to lead them from death to life again. My sole purpose is to guide after death, not to intervene in life.

Clenching my fists painfully tight for two, three seconds - getting the blood to quickly run through them again - I slowly take the gloves off and put them in my coat's pocket. Another sigh. Then I start towards her.

She doesn't stir in the slightest, not that I expect her to. It feels good to move, to walk. This whole hour of watching her has been horribly unsatisfying. Above all else, however, it has been terrifying. Of the seventeen years that I have been assisting souls, not once has this happened. Not once has a soul defied what their death date stated on their document file. I have never made the mistake of misreading the file prior to now, and of the countless times that I had checked it, I know this wasn't due in part to that small mishap. Nor is the file ever wrong. This case is thoroughly new, and I have absolutely no protocol for such a thing.

Her eyes lay blank, somewhat resembling more of a dead animal than a human being. They lay clouded, not even acknowledging my movements, and for a second I'm convinced she had actually died. Seconds ago, maybe? Minutes? This whole hour? Had I been mistaken all this time and she had died? But alas, she had not, as I take a step to stand right next to her body and watch as her chest suddenly and soundly rises. A gasp.

Out of fear, perhaps. She had inhaled deeper than she had this whole time. It holds for a moment then goes back down, returning to her regular small intervals of breathing. With my shoes at her waist, I take my right foot and step over the girl, her body now directly under me. I ball my fists once again and my knuckles pale, a strange feeling of exposure sounding them, for I have only worn my gloves. I fall to my knees, the bitter wetness of snow and blood quickly seeping through the fabric of my clothes. I unclench my fists.

She doesn't flinch when I wrap my bare hands around her thin, warm neck. At first, she remains exactly as she is, still and lifeless. However, just as soon as I begin to clench slightly tighter around her throat, her eyes slowly flutter up to meet mine. And then she twitches and shifts, slightly at first, her movements gradually reflecting off the life that's left in her. Her hands reach up to wrap around my wrists, but there's no strength left in them to pry my hands away.

Of the humane emotions that used to envelop me - emotions that no longer dwell inside but remain a memory - I would imagine there would be a sense of guilt to hurt such a young girl. Everything about her is incredibly small, from her neck to her hands, her surely being no older than a high school student. But this is nothing new. I have guided souls much, much younger than her, a shame in the sense of how long they could've lived for.

Suddenly, she begins to kick and sputter, her voice trying to lash out but the cold having long since dried it out. Surprising, in the least, since it's the most movement she has done. For a moment, I remain still, quite alarmed of the sudden outburst of energy, but then I recall a human's unconscious natural response to death. I clench harder.

A wretched sound begins to emit from her throat, perhaps an attempted scream. She continues to kick, her body rocking from side to side in an effort to throw me off of her. Not once do I break eye contact with her. I don't look at her harshly, but rather calmly. Invitingly. I don't want her to be scared.

She slowly begins to stop. Her kicking and rocking cease, her grip on my wrists nothing more than a touch, the sounds parting from her lips dimming. All she does is stare back up at me, her gaze empty and numb. I don't loosen my grip around her throat, the worst possible outcome being to not quite kill her and inflict unnecessary pain. We would be wasting both of our time.

Snow falls upon her face, dancing upon her cheeks and eyelashes. Of the blood that surrounds her body, her face remains undisturbed. Based upon her clothes, the wound roots in her abdomen, the bloom of red the darkest there. Because the clients' files don't state the cause of death, sometimes I am left to wonder what put them in the state that I find them in. For cases of critical blood loss, I normally don't reach the victim until it is nearing the time stated on their file, in which the accident occurred long before I had arrived. What happened to this girl, I wouldn't know.

Her hands fall, down to lay with her hair beside her. A snowflake flutters past her eye, the flame that was once dimly lit within those eyes sinking into black.

The file folded in my pocket that states the time of her death and the thin, transparent red string attached from the file to her soul's core sparks into an elegant surge of flames.

I let go.

I don't move for a few moments. My gaze settles to her face, her eyes dim and her lips parted. With her pale skin, her flushed cheeks and nose, her scattered hair, the prominent backdrop of red and white – it is rather beautiful.

Slowly, I find my hand just faintly brushing against the side of her face as I lean down toward her. Closing my eyes, my lips find the side of her neck as I press into her skin. No pulse. I sigh, a weight being lifted off of my shoulders, and withdraw from the warmth.

As my hands finally retreat back to my sides, I notice a flicker in the corner of my eye. Right in the middle of her chest is a small, gentle light, almost as if it was some sort of jewel reflecting off the snow. But rather than it being any sort of reflection, the light whispers from the core of her physical being. I know immediately that it's the heart of where her soul abides, yet it's glowing. It's glowing?

Normally, after the flame ignites and disappears into dust, the individual's soul is left to remain quiet and black as they awaken. It normally takes no more than a few seconds, but soon the seconds turn into minutes, and still the girl's soul doesn't move. A human's soul doesn't glow. What is this?

I stand up, taking a step back away from her. I open my coat to make sure that her file is no longer folded in my pocket, in which it isn't, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Her red string has disappeared as well, as it properly should've – an indication that her physical state has died.

I kneel down once again, watching her long, dull teal hair as it lightly sways with the wind. My eyes advert to her face, then to the light in her chest. _Would it be cruel, I wonder, to crush out that light in her soul?_

After a few moments, I extend my hand toward her once again. My fingertips hover until they rest above her sternum, and not a second more I dive past her physical body and reach toward her soul. It's warm, I notice, before I finally grasp the small ball of light. With its energy in the heart of my palm, the white light bleeds, seeping out from the cracks between my fingers.

Just as I am about to abruptly crush the small shimmer into darkness, her eyes soundly open, drifting up to meet my gaze. I freeze.

In that single second of hesitation, the dim light in my hand explodes into a blinding white. I immediately whisk my head away and squeeze my eyes shut, the intensity of the glow expanding so abruptly that everything around us vanishes into a field of illuminating white. It covers our entire bodies and vanishes out everything that surrounds us, my sense of sight stolen. Even behind my closed eyelids, it's all I can see.

In that moment, the girl's crimson wings fluttered.


End file.
